


The Dark I Know Well

by Kona



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Crestless Sylvain Jose Gautier, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurts So Good, I'm Back On My Sylvain and Edelgard Feelings Guys, Implied/Referenced Torture, Solidarity, Suicidal Thoughts, TTSWTD, What If The Gautier Brothers Relationship Hurt More?, crest experiments, crestless sylvain AU, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 08:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23348368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kona/pseuds/Kona
Summary: They tore his chest open. He remembered the weight that settled in his chest, as they placed something inside thathurt. That fused to his heart, that burned through his veins.Something changed in him.--Crestless Sylvain AU based off of vwyn19's incomparable Crestless Sylvain art.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 108





	The Dark I Know Well

**Author's Note:**

> Ever get so sucked in by a AU fanart you just have to spend 4000 or so words hurting yourself? Ever want to share that pain with others? That's where I'm at folks.  
> This is based off of wvyn19's amazing Crestless Sylvain fan art, and I've lifted some words from it. Please take a look at it and feel pain:
> 
> [Link Here](https://twitter.com/vwyn19/status/1239757822629306370?s=20)
> 
> Also the title is from Spring Awakening. I hadn't written this with the song in mind but it fits it in a terrible, terrible way. Also once again this is only half Beta'd because I can only make my fiancee read so much Sylvain pain before he stops reading it.

_“So is that little Felix? Does he have a Crest?”_

_“Of course, we got him tested. Major Crest of Fraldarius.”_

_\--_

It was always dark where they were. Light was a blessing that was only granted when the door was opened, so Sylvain had gotten more than adept at seeing in the darkness. It helped that Miklan was there with him. His brother’s arms around his shoulders, holding him close to protect him from the poking and prodding. 

He didn’t know how long they had been there.

Days? Months? 

His hair was matted and long, falling into his face and causing him to itch at the skull. He itched all over, honestly. The rags that were the remains of his clothing were stiff with sweat and dirt. Rats had put gouges in his legs. His whole body felt _wrong_ -he’d never felt like a stranger in his skin-but suddenly he was. He could only wonder what Miklan looked like. 

The small catches of light had only revealed a crooked nose, a present from their captors when Miklan had scratched and bit at them as they tried to drag Sylvain away. His head throbbed at the memory. They’d beaten him as well, and left them both to fester in the dark. 

He had stopped wondering why this was happening long ago. He’d stopped wondering why their father had handed them over to these people-these _monsters_ in masks. He must have finally decided to purge himself of his Crestless sons. They couldn’t be a disgrace if they didn’t exist, after all. Even at his age he knew that. 

\--

_“Does Sylvain have a Crest?”_

_“No, I don’t-”_

_\--_

The more they let him out of the darkness the more Sylvain understood that this must be hell.

They cut into his flesh, bled him, and battered him. Miklan whispered to Sylvain how they forced him to test his strength, piling rocks on his back and forcing him to walk. 

_“They’re testing us for something.”_

_“What? What does any of this tell them?”_

The men in masks spoke in hushed tones, and referenced others. Different experiments. 

Sylvain had heard other people screaming-more proof in his mind that he was in hell-but hadn’t put two and two together. There were _others_ who had been brought here? Were they being punished like he was? Had they been abandoned by their fathers as well?

Sylvain sobbed as they cut into his flesh, the minimal white magic they used nothing against the sharp tear of his skin on his back. They let him lay there, sticky, warm blood rolling off his back as they took notes. 

They sewed him up harshly and murmured in hushed tones how his body shows promise. 

_Less of a chance of rejection with this one._

\--

_“Yes. He will.”_

\--

After what felt like months he and Miklan were stripped of what meager clothing they had left and inspected. Scrawny and pale, they couldn’t have amounted to much. Even Miklan, that little bit older than him, who’d been so much stronger that Sylvain this whole time, looked weak in the pale, cold light. 

Sylvain shook. He was always cold now, always hungry, and forever afraid. Miklan’s hand in his own was all he had to stay upright.

_“One of you shall inherit a Crest.”_

The men in masks always spoke like their voices came from somewhere else. The sounds wrapped around them and left Sylvain feeling choked with fear every time they spoke. 

“What about the other one?” 

It was Miklan who spoke then, his eyes suddenly bright with an emotion Sylvain didn’t understand. He tried to squeeze Miklan’s hand tighter, as if to will him to stop being frightening, but for the first time in his life, his brother didn’t squeeze back. 

_“They_ may _survive. After that there is no use for them.”_

Miklan wrenched his hand from Sylvain-and Sylvain tumbled to the ground with a pained whimper, tears welling in his eyes already as his hand laid outstretched still- _pleading_.

 _Don’t go. Don’t die._

“I’ll do it! Give me the Crest of Gautier!” 

There was a desperation in Miklan’s voice, a hunger that Sylvain had never had. He never cared about Crests. Sure, all of his friends had them, but he didn’t need one. His friends loved him. His mother and brother loved him. His father--

_Oh._

The truth sunk into his skin, the pain of his captivity melting into numbness. His father hadn’t cast them off-He’d sent them to be _fixed_.

Sylvain watched as Miklan marched up to the men, puffing out his chest, slapping it with his hand.

“Tear me open and shove it in! I don’t care-I’ll do _anything_ for the Crest!”

“Miklan, _please_ don’t-”

“Shut _up_ , Sylvain!” 

It was harsh, sharp. Louder and angrier than his brother had ever gotten with him in the past. What was happening? This couldn’t be Miklan. Not the brother who’d protected him, who’d consoled him, who stood up to their father to protest that they were still worthy of the family name. 

Where had it come from?

 _“Please don’t go.”_

Sylvain’s voice was broken, cracking under his sobs. His head hurt, he didn’t have the water to spare for tears-and yet they fell. Fat rolling tears that blurred his brother’s back as he walked off into the dark. 

He hardly felt himself get picked up and carted off.

\--

They tore his chest open. 

He remembered the pain-the way his throat felt raw from screaming.

He remembered the weight that settled in his chest, as they placed something inside that hurt. That fused to his heart, that burned through his veins.

Something changed in him. 

He hated himself.

\--

The heaviness in his chest never subsided. It only seemed to fester, mocking him. 

Sylvain would have torn at the wound had they not bound his hands to stop him after he tried just that when he regained feeling in his arms. The chains were heavy. Heavier than his old ones had been. 

_Stronger already,_ They had whispered, pleased, _The body isn’t rejecting it._

It. 

Sylvain didn’t even want to name the thing in his chest, even if he knew what it was instinctually. It seemed to _hum_ when he strained against the chains, urging him to use its power. To give in to it. 

He hadn’t seen Miklan since they did this to him. 

It filled him with dread-with guilt. Were the monsters in masks right? Would the one who couldn’t keep it, die? 

He couldn’t bear the thought of Miklan being dead. His brother was stronger than him. He’d _always_ been stronger. If Sylvain survived, surely he had too. 

\--

The changes kept coming. The strength was worrisome. The way his hair looked shocked him. Even in the dark he could tell something had happened to it. It seemed like the heat in his chest would never stop burning. 

It was painful. 

Maybe he wouldn’t survive this after all. Maybe he’d die and be free and never feel this pain again.

_Wouldn’t it be so easy?_

_Wouldn’t it be so simple to just...stop?_

\--

“You will fight.”

It was the first time Sylvain had seen Miklan since he’d walked away. 

The monsters had pulled him out of his chains and thrown him into a ring with nothing but the pants he was wearing and a lance. 

Miklan looked _terrible_ . His hair was grimy and matted, sticking out in every direction. But it was still _red_. What did that mean for him? The scar on his chest looked like it was infected. But he still stood taller than Sylvain. He still had a look on his face that Sylvain couldn’t name. 

It was ugly. 

He’d never thought of his brother as ugly or scary before. But now?

Miklan didn’t even wait for them to explain further before he picked up the lance they’d provided him and started stalking towards Sylvain with intent. 

_“Why?”_

Sylvain’s voice was small, hoarse. Wavering.

The monsters’ masks tilted forward as they urged him on from above.

“You will prove you are worthy of what you have been given.”

Miklan roared, charging at that statement. It left Sylvain scrambling for his lance, his broken fingernails scraping painfully against the dirt of the ring as he barely missed getting skewered by his brother.

“Miklan, _please!”_ Sylvain leveled his lance, pushing himself up against one of the walls of the far too small arena, “I don’t want to fight!” 

He didn’t want to hurt him. Sylvain had watched Dimitri accidentally break a sword in half because of his Crest. He’d watched Felix slice a training dummy in half with little effort with a _wooden_ sword with his Crest. 

If he had the same thing in his chest, he didn’t want to kill his brother. 

“It’s either you or me, Sylvain.” Miklan’s voice was frantic, biting, “And I’m not getting killed by someone weak like _you.”_

He charged. 

It happened in a split second. 

Fight or flight kicked in and Sylvain felt... **it**. The tug in his chest, the heat that simmered constantly suddenly burned bright. His grip shifted and he slashed his lance upwards, power surging through him up into the lance.

Miklan’s lance shattered as it’s trajectory was interrupted. 

The tip of Sylvain’s spear cut an ugly line across his face, deep enough that Sylvain felt the splash of blood against his own face as he stared in horror up at his brother. 

Miklan’s furious screams seemed far away as he stumbled back, clutching his face. Sylvain couldn’t seem to force himself to drop the lance. The stone in his chest hummed, and it’s sentiment was echoed above Sylvain’s head. 

“ _Good_. You’ve claimed your birthright, young Gautier.”

\--

From then on he was in a room with light. 

They fed him regular meals, gave him clothing. They dressed his wounds and applied salves to his chafed wrists. 

The small mirror they afforded him confirmed that he wasn’t himself anymore.

His hair had always been wild, but now it was long and curly, mimicking the way Miklan kept his cut--a facsimile that made Sylvain sick to his stomach. The bright hair that his mother had crooned over was gone.

It looked like what color blood stained bones turned to under the sun. Ivory with just the hint of what it used to be. 

His eyes were frightened. They’d been a muddy amber before, a perfectly natural tint. 

Now he resembled a black cat with almost glowing golden eyes.

This was not Sylvain Jose Gautier, second son of the Margrave, heir to nothing.

This was the ‘Young Gautier’, a monstrous creation.

\--

Miklan had survived, but he was changed. 

Their father came to collect them and Miklan’s face, bisected by the wound Sylvain inflicted, was nothing but rage. When Sylvain tried to reach out his hand to join with Miklan’s and apologize he slapped it away, snarling at him. 

For the first time in his life, Sylvain felt the pangs of loneliness even when standing next to his brother. 

It was the first time his father ever embraced him, as he ushered them to a carriage. 

_“Now you’re truly a Gautier, my boy.”_

It sounded wrong to Sylvain’s ears. It made him want to squirm out of an embrace he’d craved his whole childhood. 

“What about Miklan?” He whispered, eyes flitting to where he brother sat, glowering in his corner.

_“He failed me. It won’t be happening again.”_

The monsters in masks hadn’t taken payment from Sylvain’s father.

 _The data we acquired..._ They whispered through their masks, _is payment enough for now._

“I shall give Cornelia a favorable review of your work. I am in your debt, gentlemen.”

_We shall collect a further fee if we feel it is required. Your young Gautier is perfect now._

_\--_

When they returned home nothing felt the same. His room felt too big, too comfortable. The food was too rich and made him ill. He didn’t feel the cold in the same way he had before. It didn’t bother him anymore. He was always too warm. 

The help stayed away from him. People murmured behind his back.

His mother wept when she saw her sons again. She’d cried into his hair, mourning the superficial loss without knowing what had truly been lost. He couldn’t cry with her. Miklan was stone faced beside him.

 _Months_ . They’d been gone for _months_. Their father insisted that they’d been ransomed and the reason Sylvain’s hair changed was due to the stress.

It wasn’t a total lie. 

Their father had ransomed their lives for power. Sylvain _had_ been stressed. It wasn’t the whole truth, but who would even believe him?

Everyone in the nobility celebrated Sylvain finally manifesting his Crest to save himself and his brother. He was a young hero. Only 8 and yet so brave, so strong.

All Sylvain could hear when they cooed at him was Miklan’s keen of anger and pain as his lance tore into his face. All he could see past the smiles was Miklan’s bloody face as he glowered at him, teeth gnashing.

He didn’t feel like a hero for surviving. 

He felt fake. 

\--

It wasn’t long after that that Miklan began terrorizing him. Sylvain was willing to put up with much of it. He had _hurt_ Miklan. Ruined his face and got him in trouble with their father. The bruises and nearly broken bones weren’t much in the face of what he’d endured before. 

The monsters had done so much more. This was his penance. 

The well was the final straw. He’d been tricked, Miklan had been all smiles and apologies, begging his brother to run away with him to make their own way. He’d been a fool to believe them. Even with his new strength he couldn’t climb out of a freezing well. 

A dark part of his mind, a part he’d become far too familiar with in the year since he’d been home, whispered hateful things to him. _You deserve this. You stole his birthright. Monsters should be put down._

He didn't bother calling out for help. What was the point? If he died there then his father didn’t get what he wanted. He didn’t have to be someone who wasn’t Sylvain. Not a bad deal, really.

Glenn and Felix saved his life, and Sylvain felt the sharp pangs of guilt as Felix cried over his half frozen body. 

He made up his mind then. Miklan didn’t care about him anymore, his father only cared about his Crest, and the rest of the family fell into step with the head of the household. But his friends? They actually cared about him. 

He’d live for them. Screw his father. Screw what was expected of him. He’d disappoint them all if he had to. But he’d live for himself and for his friends. 

\--

It wasn’t until Sylvain had stopped considering Miklan as his brother that he almost actually got killed by him. Finally the physical wound outweighed the emotional wound. He was old enough to finally absorb enough of the hate from Miklan to understand that they’d never be brothers again. 

It wasn’t fair that Sylvain was blamed for a trick of fate, but at this point he accepted the hate. It was a part of him, after all. 

It did shock him that his father kicked Miklan out. He assumed that the love his mother had for Miklan had always stayed his father’s hand. That there was a limit probably came from the fact that Miklan had stabbed him in the back where someone could actually catch him. 

And their father couldn’t have all the hard work he’d put into getting a child with a Crest to go to waste. 

So Miklan was cast out, and Sylvain felt the phantom reminder of chains around his wrists as if the shackles from the dark had come back and reminded him that his life wasn’t his own to live.

He had tasks to complete.

Marry. Have children. Pass on this Crest he’d had forced upon him. 

He’d suffered for House Gautier to continue. 

Screw that.

He’d rather it all die with him. 

\--

“Sylvain, I’ve a delicate question to ask you.” Dimitri’s voice was caution, quiet. Dimitri had always been polite to a fault, his strength was frightening to most, so his manner had to be soft. 

“Is it about sex, Your Highness?” Sylvain drawled, lounging across the carriage seat he and Felix were sharing on their way to the Officer’s Academy. He ignored Felix’s hiss of anger as he was leaned against, and actively leaned in harder.

Dimitri’s flush was enough to make Sylvain snicker, even if it felt mean. It was necessary to throw him off so Sylvain couldn’t be caught betraying the truth.

“No, it was not about-Sylvain I simply wanted to ask...What truly made your hair change it’s shade? You’ve never told us and since soon we’ll be at the Academy...”

Sylvain’s mouth curled in a now familiar smirk, eyes narrowing. Unconsciously his hand dipped into the bone colored locks, the fine and soft texture familiar and grounding. It wasn’t matted and dirty. He couldn’t bear to let his hair go unwashed for too long lest it send him spiraling. He let his nails scratch against his scalp, as if he were in thought. 

“Sylvain?” Ingrid spoke up now, next to Dimitri, “Dimitri just wants to be able to defend you; You don’t have to answer, you know that, right?”

Sylvain cocked his head to the side, smirk widening, “Oh, you know I don’t even remember. Probably just because I was too handsome originally, so the Goddess had to knock me down a few pegs.” He leaned into Felix, who grumbled, “But I’m still pretty dashing, right Felix?”

“You’re annoying, is what you are.”

Sylvain laughed, humorless and dry. 

It wasn’t ever going to be funny, but if he laughed it off then Dimitri would drop it for the time being. It might have been unfair to play into Dimitri’s manners that way but...They didn’t need to know what he’d been through. 

\--

Sylvain always figured that he was the only one to survive the darkness. He’d never heard of any others like him, with hair that had suddenly changed. It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to find them. He’d sent out people to listen to the whispers of the courts. Nothing concrete. 

So he gave up.

It figured in his last year of freedom before being shackled to the Gautier land for the rest of his life he finally found the proof he was looking for. 

He’d seen her hair before anything else. 

He’d been told that was how most people found him. The shock of hair, not naturally seen in the world, always drove the eyes there instead of elsewhere. 

Edelgard von Hresvelg.

It seemed like it should have been impossible for someone like her to be kidnapped and forced into the dark. 

And yet. 

“Hey Sylvain,” Ingrid’s voice was teasing as Sylvain stared, hoping to catch the princess’s eye. “Look, you finally found your match.”

Finally, Edelgard’s eyes slid across the marketplace and met his own. Bright lavender met with eerie amber. There was a flash of recognition, a snapping of pieces into place, before Edelgard broke the stare and moved along with her retainer.

“Yeah.” Sylvain’s voice was distant, as his chest burned. His fingers went up to his hair, tugging slightly, “I did.”

\--

It took weeks for him to finally corner Edelgard alone. At least as close to alone as he could get her. Hubert was lurking around a corner, surely, but at least there were no other students. 

It was in the library, late at night, when the lanterns were low on oil.

Edelgard looked small in the low lighting. She _was_ small, really. 

_A side effect of what they’d done?_

Sylvain had grown tall after he came back, growing into the young Gautier stock his father expected. But he was tall enough to tower over Edelgard and casually lean on the stack behind her without straining himself. 

He hadn’t blocked her totally in, but it was finally enough to get her to look at him for more than a few seconds. And look at him he did. 

He’d never been proud of who he was after he returned. He wasn’t himself, after all. But her?

Pride showed in every tilt of her chin and furrow of her brow. The way she frowned up at him, her eyes boring into him made him feel terribly seen in a way he never had before. 

He found himself liking it.

“Sylvain Gautier.” Her voice was calm, pleasant even.

“Edelgard von Hresvelg.” He matched her tone, almost teasing.

She tilted her head, eyes casually flicking up to his hair, “I’ve never seen such hair on a man so young.”

“Funnily enough, your Imperialness, I was going to say the same to you.” He leaned in, “Except now I’ve met two girls like that in only a month of school. Not how does that figure?”

Lysithea had wanted nothing to do with Sylvain from the moment she saw him. She’d gone more pale than she already was and then flushed a deeper red than he thought possible. “ _I don’t have the time for you or whatever you want, Sylvain-go away!”_

But Edelgard…

“Well, that _is_ curious isn’t it.” Edelgard’s voice was casual, but Sylvain could hear the edge in it begin to grow, “I’d heard from Dimitri that it was a side effect of your time being ransomed as a child. Stress, he said.”

Sylvain’s smirk slid into place, eyes narrowing. The heat in his chest was almost unbearable. The humming was nearly painful. He resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair. He gave a small tilt of his head to urge her on. 

“Is that what happened?” Edelgard leaned against the stack now, arms crossing her chest casually.

“Well, spending so much time in the dark as a child does things to you.” He leaned in, voice only a rumble, “You have to give something up to survive, don’t you?”

A long beat of silence. Edelgard’s eyes flickered towards Sylvain’s chest. He knew what she was looking for. The scar that ran from just below his collarbone right down the middle of his ribcage until it hit the bottom. 

Impulsively he reached for one of her hands and dragged it up to his chest. There was nothing but his uniform shirt and her glove in between the scar and her. The heat was surely a giveaway, and the ridged scar could always be felt through his shirt if that wasn’t enough. 

It was one of the few things that Sylvain actively hid from his time in the dark. The scars on his back and the ugly one down his chest marked him. Girls cooed at him, calling them battle scars and calling him brave. It always soured his mood to hear that. There was nothing to be proud of with them. He didn’t want them to be touched. But now?

He would have given anything to have her see them all, to share the pain with her.

She let him keep her hand there for a few moments before he loosened the grip on her wrist and her hand slid away. To an outsider it looked like nothing more than a mistimed seduction. To them it was solidarity.

“To emerge from the darkness takes a certain kind of strength. Sacrifices are made.” Edelgard’s eyes softened for a moment before she chuckled, pushing past Sylvain. “I look forward to learning what you needed to sacrifice to meet me here, Sylvain.”

“Oh, it’s nothing special compared to what you have to say, I’m sure.” Sylvain dragged a hand through his hair, winking, “But that’ll be half the fun, right? Finding out?”

Edelgard wrinkled her nose, “The rumors over this will be awful, you know. ‘Playboy attempts to woo Princess’.”

“Like Hubert wouldn’t stop them right away.” Sylvain watched as she made her way to the doorway of the library. Hubert slid into place beside her from the shadows right on cue and his eyes met with Sylvain’s.

It wasn’t the reproach or disgust he was expecting. There was a sense of curiosity. An offer of camaraderie. He gave the man a curt nod. Hubert’s gave a slight incline of his head back.

It was as much of an acceptance as he could get from him. 

“Regardless. I look forward to speaking with you more on this, Sylvain.”

Sylvain.

Not Gautier. 

It felt right. And it might be impertinent to say but…

“You as well, Edelgard.”

A smirk from Edelgard, one that sent Sylvain’s heart sputtering forward with excitement. He watched as they left into the night, listening until their footsteps no longer echoed on the stone.

There was potential there. 

And for the first time in years since he emerged from the dark he felt like himself. Like Sylvain. 

The shackles on his wrists fell away. There was no Young Gautier here without those shackles. It was Sylvain. 

And he’d follow Edelgard into hell to keep that feeling if he had to.


End file.
